


fried chicken (for the soul)

by pennyofthewild



Category: Free!
Genre: Christmas, Gen, M/M, Mentions of SeiGou, apparently KFC is a big thing in Japan at, senpai/kouhai relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/pseuds/pennyofthewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[“Aiichirou,” Rin says, voice gruff, interrupting Aiichirou’s reverie, “what do you want to do for Christmas?” He’s tapping his fingers, idly, against the wheel, Aiichirou notes out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fixed on the road, straight ahead.]</p><p>Many times, things don't go the way we wish they would. (That is not necessarily a bad thing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fried chicken (for the soul)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vodkatiia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkatiia/gifts).



> Dear SuperCholo,
> 
> I must admit, RinTori isn't exactly my favorite Free! dynamic. I did, however, sign up for the Fest with the hope to find a challenge, and that is certainly what writing this fic turned out to be. I tried not to let personal bias affect the quality of writing; I am not sure I succeeded, but I certainly hope I did.
> 
> (As for the premise of the fic, Google tells me going to KFC is a big thing around Christmas; apparently, reservations are required, to actually find places: and branches are often sold out before the night's over.)
> 
> This story turned out a lot longer than I originally intended! I hope I did the characters justice, and that you enjoy the fic as much as I (eventually) did the writing of it.
> 
>  
> 
> Merry Christmas!
> 
> P.S. title credit goes to my little sister, who is also my beta (also, I am ridiculous).

When Aiichirou pulls up in front of the office building’s Rin’s working part-time at, Rin is waiting on the sidewalk, winter-coat buttoned up to his chin, hands stuffed into his pockets. Aiichirou feels his cheeks lift in a reflexive smile. He brings the car – a grey Mazda, borrowed, from his older brother –  to a stop just in front of Rin, rolls the window down, smile widening, unbidden.

“Hey,” Aiichirou says breathlessly, tilting his head back to look Rin in the face.

“Hey yourself,” Rin lifts an eyebrow, but he is smiling, too. “Scoot over; I’m driving.”

Aiichirou nods. “Sure,” and he steps onto the curb and walks over to the passenger side, hurriedly shutting the door once he is in his seat, because it is cold out. Rin’s leaning over the driver’s chair, bundling his coat into the back seat. Aiichirou watches him toss his scarf back, too, so that it lies in a crumpled heap on top of the coat. Rin takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar, letting out a little sigh of relief as it comes undone.

It is a good look on him, Aiichirou thinks appreciatively as Rin sets one long trousered leg in the car and lowers himself into the driver’s seat, shirtsleeves rolled up to bare browned, muscular forearms. Somehow – it hasn’t snowed yet but temperatures are in the single digits and Aiichirou knows _he’s_ definitely cold – Rin looks completely blasé as he pulls the door closed, as if it’s twenty-five degrees instead of five.

“If - if you don’t want to wear your coat,” Aiichirou says, “I’ve, um, got a jacket for you, in the back.”

Rin looks over at him, hand poised over the gearshift, one eyebrow raised. His face is dripping with amusement, the quirk of his mouth wry.

“The heater’s running,” he points out, “and I was without a coat there for – less than two minutes? I’m not going to die.”

He slides the car out of neutral, smoothly maneuvering onto the road, fingers loosely curled around the steering wheel.

“You could – still get sick.”

Rin rolls his eyes. “Don’t coddle,” he says, and while it isn’t particularly harsh Aiichirou still feels, for some reason, as though he’s been scolded; his cheeks burn and he falls silent, dropping his gaze to his hands, clasped in his lap.

The upcoming traffic light turns red; Aiichirou hears Rin exhale as he brings the car to a stop. The silence in the cabin is thick.

“Sorry,” Rin says after a moment; Aiichirou catches sight of a flash of teeth. “Did I so something wrong?”

“No,” Aiichirou’s a little louder than he intended to be, in his enthusiasm to dispel the – was that worry? – in Rin’s tone. His blush deepens. “-I mean, no, you – you didn’t.”

There’s a hint of three-o’-clock shadow against the curve of Rin’s jaw and down the line of his throat. Aiichirou swallows.

“You went quiet there, all of a sudden,” Rin says by way of explanation. The light flickers to green and the car rolls forward, the engine purring.

Rin runs his free hand through his hair, a stray lock falling across his forehead. Aiichirou itches to brush it out of the way. He squeezes his palms together, interlacing his fingers.

There is a giant flat-screen by the side of the road advertising Sony’s latest handheld camcorder in between snippets of the music video to _Golden Bomber’s_ new single.

They’re a visual kei band; Aiichirou can make out several interesting piercings and the usual over-the-top make-up, and a small, still-present part of him wonders, again, what it would be like if _he_ decided to dress like that.

He would, of course, have to find another job; his boss at the telemarketer’s would have a fit if Aiichirou showed up for work in black skinnies, studded bracelets and Kabuki-style-face-paint.

“Aiichirou,” Rin says, voice gruff, interrupting Aiichirou’s reverie, “what do you want to do for Christmas?” He’s tapping his fingers, idly, against the wheel, Aiichirou notes out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fixed on the road, straight ahead.

“For Christmas?” Aiichirou repeats, dumbfounded, and then he realizes it is the twenty-third, and Christmas is less than two days away, “oh,” and his face heats up again. A billboard announcing KFC’s special Christmas packages flits by. Rin turns off the main road into Tottori’s residential sector.

“You’re really asking me?” Aiichirou asks.

“I just did, didn’t I?”

“Well, um – ” Aiichirou shakes his head. “There isn’t – ”

Rin huffs. “Oh, come _on_. There’s got to be something you’d like to do together.”

Aiichirou bites his lip, his mind drawing a blank. “I – can’t just make a decision on the spot,” he mumbles, and winces, inwardly, at the unconscious whine that has somehow crept into his voice. “If you’d told me before, maybe – ”

Rin exhales, loudly. “Fine – whatever. Forget it,” and he reaches out to turn the radio on. The notes to a very familiar melody start up – it’s an American song, one of those Christmas-y tunes that somehow become more popular every year, just like strings of multicolored lights and presents under pine trees.

Aiichirou sneaks a look over at Rin from under his eyelashes. Rin’s jaw is set, the curve of his mouth pulled decidedly downwards, and Aiichirou feels a not-unfamiliar pang wash over him – something he can’t quite put a name to, a sense of hopelessness, maybe, and frustration but mostly an overwhelming sense of _this is wrong_ and _I can’t fix this_.

“Um,” Aiichirou begins, and Rin glances over at him.

 “Hm?”

“Well,” Aiichirou says, smiling brightly, “there’s – always KFC.” Rin’s expression turns incredulous, and Aiichirou finds himself wilting.

“KFC.” Rin’s tone is flat. In the background, the singer on the radio croons, _all I want for Christmas is you_ – 

“It’s – um, traditional. Personally, I like eating there,” Aiichirou says, and is glad he doesn’t sound half as desperate as he suddenly feels. “You know – eating fried chicken is just one of those things you always do on Christmas. It might be fun.”

Rin is silent for several moments. “You don’t have to sound so panicked,” he says finally. “Why do you sound like I’m going to hit you or something?”

He doesn’t sound particularly angry, but there’s a foreboding sort of tilt to his eyebrows, and Aiichirou sighs, unclenching his hands. There are two sets of half-moons decorating his palms.

“I – sorry. –we can go somewhere else if you don’t want to.”

“No – it’s fine.” Rin gives Aiichirou a smile, and Aiichirou feels a rush of relief, because the smile actually _reaches his eyes_. “KFC it is, then.”

***

Aiichirou is no stranger to the idea that good things wouldn’t be half as good as they are if bad things didn’t exist – but sometimes, he does wish bad things didn’t come in a series of small but cumulative disasters, like growing snowballs, or a line of dominos tipping over – but  they do, of course, and that is why Christmas Eve begins with Aiichirou discovering that his best dress shirt had been put in the wash with his brother’s horrible orange polo shirts and is now a lilac-and-vermilion tie-and-dye travesty.

\- fortunately, shirts are, in general, replaceable items, and by five-thirty, Aiichirou is down in the apartment’s living room, hair tastefully combed back, a spritz of cologne at his wrists and in the hollow of his throat, seeing his brother (and brother’s girlfriend) to the door.

“Have fun,” Aiichirou says, and his brother gives him an exaggerated wink.

“Away from you for over twenty-four hours? Of course I will.”

Aiichirou rolls his eyes and resists the urge to close the door more loudly than necessary behind them, and settles down to wait; as per prior agreement, Rin will be over – in his own car, this time –  to pick Aiichirou up at six.

Instead of Rin, however, six-o’-clock brings an apologetic email stating, _sorry; I’m gonna be late. Last-minute staff meeting_ –. Aiichirou almost laughs. He ponders printing a poster of the domino effect and hanging it on his wall, and reminds himself that Christmas is not a public holiday in Japan, that Rin is working really hard to prepare for the Olympics, that he needs his job –

The intercom system rings at a quarter-past-seven. Aiichirou takes his coat and grabs Rin’s present on his way to answer it: just in case.

“Get down here,” Rin says in response to Aiichirou’s tentative _hello_ , “if I stand out here any longer I’m going to freeze my ass off.”

Aiichirou grins all the way down the stairs and into the parking lot. The car’s windows are misted over; he can just barely make out the faint outline of Rin behind the fogged-up glass before Rin leans over to open the passenger door. There’s a well-worn crease in between his eyebrows and his eyes are almost bloodshot. Aiichirou has to work to keep the smile from fading off his face.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, instead, and hands over Rin’s painstakingly wrapped present before sliding into the car. Rin gives him a faint smile, the line of his shoulders tense.

“Yeah,” Rin says, and he gives Aiichirou a once-over that leaves the younger boy with flaming cheeks. “That’s a new shirt,” he comments, off-handedly, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Yeah,” Aiichirou says, face almost painfully hot, and Rin glances at him again.

“You look good,” Rin tells him.

Aiichirou lifts his head to meet Rin’s eyes. “You too,” he says, and leaves off adding   _you always do._

Tottori’s only KFC is on Sanin Road, in the west of the city, and on a good day, fifteen minutes away from Aiichirou’s apartment complex, but it is Christmas Eve, and they are late, and Aiichirou was right when he said it is traditional to eat fried chicken on Christmas, because it seems the whole city is headed in the same direction they are.

“I don’t remember it being like this, before,” Rin mutters after they have been stuck at the same traffic light for five minutes, ten steps away from Aiichirou’s house. He taps his foot on the floor between the brake and accelerator, an impatient sort of movement that makes Aiichirou feel fidgety, too. His shirt is creased at the elbows and collar; Aiichirou wonders if he stopped at home on the way from work at all.

Aiichirou wonders if saying he didn’t either would be the wrong thing to say, and why this one very important detail had escaped his notice, and although Rin’s been back for over three years now Aiichirou’s lived in Tottori his whole life, so it is his business to know these things, and that they are now stranded in traffic is entirely his fault.

“Sorry,” Aiichirou says out loud, before he can help it. Rin’s foot stills, his back stiffening; Aiichirou bites his lip. “I mean – I should’ve realized – ”

“I hate it when you apologize like that,” Rin snaps, voice abnormally loud in the dark, enclosed space. “don’t be ridiculous.” The silence afterward is deafening. Aiichirou’s eyes hurt, all of a sudden.

After what seems like another eon, the light turns green; the gearstick slides into place with a low clunk and they are on the move again, albeit slowly, as the drivers in front of them come to realize that they are no longer required to stay put. A car in the next lane  attempts to veer in front of them; Rin leans over Aiichirou into the driver’s line of sight, middle finger aloft, the heady smell of his aftershave filling Aiichirou’s nose. It lingers, even after Rin’s back on his side of the car.

There’s no music, this time, to take the edge off the quiet, Aiichirou thinks, and wonders if he should turn the radio on. The dial, within inches of his fingers, seems to shrink away, when he lifts his hand. The windshield is clear, the car’s wipers having cleared the fog off the glass, but the windows aren’t; the lights, hung in trees and on buildings, are distorted splashes of color, alongside Aiichirou’s frosty reflection.

“Damn,” Rin swears, and Aiichirou looks up to see the upcoming traffic light flicker from yellow to red moments before they cross it. There’s an elderly woman in a threadbare coat on the curbside; as she steps down, to cross the road, Rin rolls down his window.

A gust of cold air rushes inside; Aiichirou takes a breath and feels as though he’s been chilled to the bones.

“Obaasaan,” Rin calls, and leans out the window to beckon at her, reaching into his back pocket with his other hand, withdrawing his wallet. She comes up to stand in front of the window, blocking out the streetlight, throwing the car’s interior into shadow, threadbare edges golden in the backlight.

“Merry Christmas,” Rin tells her, the bill – Aiichirou cannot make out the number – rustling as it exchanges hands. The old woman smiles, murmurs a prayer, and as she reaches the opposite side of the road, the traffic light turns green.

“You can turn the radio on, you know,” Rin says, looking over at Aiichirou, and unless Aiichirou’s mistaken, his voice is warmer than it was before.

***

“I didn’t think they would be _sold out_ ,” Rin comments, pushing the grocery cart through 7-11’s sliding doors.

“Let me take that,” Aiichirou says, and pulls the cart out of Rin’s grasp despite Rin’s griping. It helps that he has been taller than Rin for over a year now (although, in all honesty, taller does not equate to stronger, much to Aiichirou's chagrin). “I think people have to make reservations beforehand.”

“For KFC?” Rin raises an eyebrow, stuffing his hands into his trousers pockets and falling into step beside Aiichirou.

“Senpai,” Aiichirou says, “I know you spent most of middle school in Australia, but you were here in grade school, weren’t you? Christmas has _always_ been like this here.”

“I still don’t get it,” Rin mutters, and Aiichirou hears him add, _fried chicken? really?_  under his breath, and then, out loud, “oi; the frozen food section is down here.” He clamps a hand on the front of the cart, opposite the handlebar, and steers it into the correct aisle.

“Here,” Rin says, several minutes later, putting the last ingredient, a bottle of pepper sauce, into the cart. He precedes Aiichirou to the checkout counter, pulling out his wallet before Aiichirou can voice a protest, and is out of the store in record time, making this the fastest shopping trip Aiichirou’s ever been on. Usually, he is by himself, or with his brother; on his own, he is rather indecisive, and any time spent with his brother is time spent arguing, or otherwise not getting work done.

Rin has always been a refreshing difference – but Aiichirou wonders, more often than not, what he’s got to offer Rin in return.

They load the groceries into the trunk; Aiichirou slides into the passenger seat just as Rin is pulling his door closed.

“Are we – going back to my place?” Aiichirou asks (it is his, for the duration of his brother’s trip out of town).

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” Rin backs the car out of the supermarket’s parking lot, “Gou and Sei are hosting some kind of party at home.”

“I don’t mind,” Aiichirou says, and bites his lip before he adds something like _I’d love to have you over_.

“That’s great then,” Rin says, and takes a deep breath. “Here’s to hoping we get there before our chicken spoils in the trunk.”

***

Aiichirou sets his brother’s stereo system in the living room, plugs it in, and starts up the music before going into the kitchen, where Rin’s got the cutting board on the counter and is engaged in cutting their chicken into easily manageable pieces, an apron tied over his shirt and trousers.

“What is that?” Rin asks when Aiichirou comes inside, and Aiichirou shrugs.

“Um, a CD I had lying around – ”

“You’ve got a horrible taste in music, have I told you that?” Rin says, but his face dimples, and Aiichirou can’t bring himself to feel hurt. “Get my keys out of my pocket,” Rin gestures, “and bring up the CD I’ve got in my car.”

Aiichirou takes a deep breath, slips his hand into Rin’s pocket and retrieves his car keys. He looks up to find Rin giving him a funny look.

“Um,” Aiichirou says, “I’ll – just go down and – ” He all but sprints from the room, taking the elevator down into the basement to where they’ve parked the car. It isn’t as cold here as it is outside, or he would be regretting not stopping to put on a jacket.

The CD is stashed in the dashboard: unlabeled, without a cover, either; for a moment, Aiichirou is afraid it is the wrong one, but a quick second perusal comes up blank, and so he takes it upstairs.

A catchy, upbeat tune begins playing when Aiichirou slides the disc into the player; as he is returning to the kitchen, the words start up.

“I didn’t know you liked English music so much,” Aiichirou says.

“Make yourself useful,” Rin says by way of reply, “and start making the marinade.”

“What is this band, anyway?” Aiichirou reaches into the overhead cupboard for a mixing bowl, “it’s a nice tune.”

Rin sighs. “Imagine Dragons,” he says, “and just listen to the lyrics, why don’t you?”

It takes a little bit of concentration, but Aiichirou finds the words aren’t difficult to follow. _I don’t ever want to let you down_ the lyrics say, while Aiichirou is adding hot sauce to the eggs, in the bowl, and, _It’s time to begin, isn’t it_? when he is mixing the flour and pepper together in another, and, _I’m never changing who I am_ as Rin dips the chicken, seasoned with garlic and more pepper, into the flour mixture.

The chicken sizzles as it is dropped, carefully, into the hot oil; Rin sends Aiichirou to set the table while it is frying. “Stop hovering,” he says, and Aiichirou, chastised (although he wonders if it was meant to be chastising), pulls tablemats out of the cabinets in the dining room and napkins from the drawers.

Aiichirou retrieves two cans of _Bubble Man_ from the fridge; he’d assumed there was sake, in the house – he seems to be making a lot of mistakes, lately –

“This had better taste good,” Rin says from behind him, and Aiichirou jumps. “Watch it,” Rin is balancing the platter of chicken in one hand and fries in the other; Aiichirou hurriedly takes one off his hands. The china clinks, a little, as it is set down.

“I’m sorry if it doesn’t taste good - my brother’s girlfriend emailed the recipe to me,” Aiichirou says, apologetically, as Rin is sitting down, “it’s not something I’ve had before so I can’t vouch for – ”

“For God’s sake, Aiichirou,” Rin says, straightening, “stop. –I didn’t mean it like that; I was joking; why do you always turn everything around so that it feels like I’m blaming you or something? You don’t always have to be so _damn contrite_ , okay?”

Aiichirou takes a deep breath, to keep himself from flinching or drawing back. The stereo is playing, _is it my fault; is it my fault we’ve been missing each other_  - and Aiichirou thinks, what is he supposed to say in a situation like this, anyway? It seems to be happening a lot more lately: too often, in conversation, he’ll find he is at a loss for what to say (mostly with Rin. only with Rin).

“-it’s been a long day,” Aiichirou says, and is grateful his voice sounds steady, “I – know _I’m_ hungry; let’s just sit down and eat. I’m – ”

Rin shakes his head. “Don’t apologize; it’s fine; it’s okay.” He pulls his chair out; it clatters, against the wooden floor, and sits down, heavily. Aiichirou sinks into his own chair, pulling his soda can nearer to him and attempting to pull at the tab. His hands shake. He can feel rather than see Rin look at him; Rin’s attention has always made Aiichirou feel as though someone has switched a spotlight on over his head.

“Give it here,” Rin says, gently, as if Aiichirou is a fragile glass ornament he’s come dangerously close to breaking. Rin lifts it open with ease, pouring the soda into an empty glass and handing it back. He forks chicken and fries into Aiichirou’s plate too. It is on the tip of Aiichirou’s tongue to say that he should be serving Rin, instead of the other way around, but Rin’s got the determined sort of look he gets before important races on his face – the one that brokers no argument, and Aiichirou realizes this is Rin’s way of apologizing, of saying _I’m so incredibly sorry_ without putting it into words.

Aiichirou had dimmed the lights earlier; there is a faint golden glow in the living room, that, before the invention of intensity dials, could probably only be achieved with candles or something. The next song is playing: one by Leona Lewis, that Aiichirou’s heard before, and, looking at Rin’s face, softer than it’s been all evening, Aiichirou feels a little bit of the tension stiffening his shoulders melt out of him.

They eat in silence. The fries are a little soggy, and the chicken is a little too spicy, but the food is hot, and, in between lifting his fork to his mouth Aiichirou catches Rin’s eye, and Rin’s mouth quirks, which Aiichirou takes to mean it isn’t all that bad.

Afterward, they clear the table, and Rin follows Aiichirou to the sink and offers to wash while Aiichirou dries. He smiles as he speaks, and Aiichirou has a sudden mental image of an hourglass, sand dribbling from one end to the other (he is suddenly afraid to refuse, hearing a _not much time_ left echo somewhere in his head). Aiichirou listens to the sound of the dishwater, and the clink of china, and pretends they are in an endless loop, and the moment – Rin murmuring along to the song, voice soft, face relaxed, the way they’re standing, side-by-side, so that, at times, their forearms (just barely) touch, the smell of the washing soap and Rin’s aftershave –

“I should get going,” Rin dries his hands off and stands, in the middle of the kitchen. He looks tired, as if he’s been put through a metaphorical wringer, eyes shadowed, mouth curved the slightest bit downwards in repose. Aiichirou imagines the last of the sand trickle through the neck of the hourglass, a single grain balanced precariously on the edge.

He follows Rin to the door, hands him his coat, watches him slide his feet into his shoes. The keyring rattles as the door is unlocked; for a moment, Rin stands in the doorway, coat over one shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, a wistful sort of look in his eyes, “that things didn’t go the way you wanted.”

Aiichirou summons a smile, tucks his hands into his pockets. “I had a good time, anyway.”

“I’m glad.” Rin gives him a nod and turns. His shoes click on the hallway’s marble tiles. Aiichirou watches him press the elevator’s button. He wonders if Rin will glance back, over his shoulder.

“Wait,” Aiichirou calls, and Rin raises his head. The elevator dings as it arrives. “Senpai – Rin. Rin, wait.” He breathes in, deep as he can. Grasps the hourglass, as if to turn it over. “Would you stay, please?”

Rin looks at him for a moment, finger still poised over the elevator’s button. “You want me to stay.”

Aiichirou nods. “Yeah.” His voice does not shake.

Rin smiles. “Thank you,” he says, and, a heartbeat later. “I’m glad you asked.” 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

_end._

 


End file.
